


Awkward Brother Boners and their Remedies

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 16 year old Sam, 20 year old Dean, Awkward Boners, Cock-tease!Sam, Frottage, Humor, M/M, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Weechesters, Wincest - Freeform, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:39:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is a tease and Dean needs a remedy for an awkward brother boner. While not quite what he'd been looking for, what he finds does the trick, no matter how nasty it is. Later, after John's left to hit the bars, Dean takes his sweet revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward Brother Boners and their Remedies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicbubblepipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/gifts).



> This was really fun to write and I'm not even a little sorry.

  
           

 

             Sammy’s ass is truly a work of art. His cheeks are downright fucking beatific in the tight confines of his jeans and the lean, muscled expanse of his thighs flex under tight denim. The number of times Sam has bent over today is in the high twenties and Dean’s dick is definitely taking notice.  His boner is raging and Sam is insanely hot, all slick with sweat and scantily clad and groaning in the suffocating heat as he tries to haul the broken, stained couch out the front door by himself.

            “A little help, ass-hat?” Sam huffs out laughingly, holding up one end of the disease riddled couch he’s trying to jam outside. He looks up from the patch of black that had drawn his attention on the crusty couch to give Dean a slightly miffed look.  


            “Oi, watch your God-damned mouth.” Dean replies, grinning widely while he saunters over to end nearest the door, gripping the other end of the couch and lifting it with a quiet grunt. “Fuck, this thing is nasty.” Dean snorts when a seriously disgusting scent assaults his nose. It’s a mixture of cat pee, vomit, mildew and nicotine and Dean gags dramatically, making Sam laugh as he walks the couch backwards out the door.

             “No freakin’ kidding.” Sam agrees, nose wrinkled in distaste. They dump it near the curb, the both of them panting and in need of a shower. Sam gives his hands a disgusted shake and wipes them on Dean’s back, darting out of the way of his halfhearted swing with a smile.                    

            “Dad really knows how to pick ‘em.” Sam mutters, mostly to himself, reluctantly slumping back into the stifling apartment.

             “Sure does.” Dean agrees, just a hint of scorn audible in his tone while he moves to fiddle with the decrepit air conditioning unit. It wheezes out a few feeble jets of cool air and Dean situates his lawn chair, which they’d hosed off and brought inside when they’d seen the state of the furniture, in front of the puttering thing.        

            Sam’s white tank top is almost sheer with sweat and his jeans, previously Dean’s, could have been painted on. The apartment they’re staying in is one of the most run-down, skanky things Dean has ever seen and they’d spent the last few hours cleaning it while John had gone to case a hunt.   


             With the couch gone, the place smells less like death and Sam flops onto the counter they’d scrubbed clean, ass on perfect display and his back arched in a way that just begs Dean to run his tongue down the curve of Sam’s spine. Strong, lithely muscled shoulders flex as Sam presses his cheek against the cool surface of the counter, an indecent moan huffed against the chipped marble.

              Dean shifts, hard cock rubbing against rough denim. A bead of sweat drips down the slope of Sam’s neck and Dean reaches down to press the heel of his palm against the base of his dick, trying his damnedest to will away his weird brother boner. It doesn’t work.

             Sam rucks up the thin material of his tank top and presses his stomach against the counter with a pleased, ridiculously sexy sigh, hands moving to grip the edges. Dean covers his mouth with his hand, biting the knuckle of his forefinger and giving his head a hard shake.

            “Damn it Sammy, cut that shit out.” Dean finally snaps when Sam purposefully pushes his hips back with a husky groan, completely bent over the counter. Sam grins over his shoulder, eyes full of mischief and says in a mockingly coy, low tone “Somethin' wrong, Dean?”

              “Sixteen and you’re already a cock-tease. What the hell.” Dean grumbles, giving the tent in his jeans a grumpy look. “I learned from the best.” Sam says with a modest flutter of his lashes.

              “It’s too hot for this.” Dean tells his boner angrily, still trying to press away the slow build of heat that only adds to the misery of the day. Sam doesn’t help in the least by pulling away from the counter, shirt still rucked up, and giving a low, long stretch before loping neatly over to his chair beside Dean’s and sprawling in it. His knees are spread obscenely wide and he drops his head back with a breathy sigh.

              The sticky heat makes everything cling and Dean briefly considers jerking off, maybe getting a shower, before deciding against it and instead just leaving it be in the hopes that it’ll abate.

            Twenty minutes later and Sam is still making porn star noises and Dean is still really hard. It wouldn’t be much of a problem, it isn’t the first time he’s popped a stiffy ‘cause a Sam and vice versa, put Dean can hear he rumble of the Impala coming up the dirt road and he’s genuinely freaking out.

            Sam’s laughing at him, face scrunched up and arms wrapped around his sides while he cackles at Dean. Dean is flipping every tit he has scrambling for something, anything to get rid of the monster erection he’s sporting. He trips over Sam’s duffle on his way to the kitchen and Sam’s laughter transcends to a new level and he’s just wheezing, doubled over and almost in tears.

            It’s there on the previously muck covered counter that Dean spots the innocuous little spud. He’d read somewhere, probably the internet, that eating a whole raw potato is a boner kill and Dean’s desperate enough that he grabs up the potato and just takes a big bite, little sprouts and all. He wishes he hadn’t, because it’s seriously fucking awful. The texture is just downright disgusting and the grit of dirt from its skin rasps over Dean’s teeth and is revolting going down his throat.

             But damn, if it don’t do the job.

           Halfway through his manic spud eating, his dick is well on its way to being more flaccid that it’s ever been and Sam is on the floor, choking out little squeaks of laughter. A few more bites and Dean is completely limp.

             Viscously, Dean chunks the mostly eaten potato at Sam’s head, beaning him good and hard with it, before smoothly pulling out one of the multiple shotguns in the weapons duffle. He can hear Dad’s boots on the walkway and hastily takes apart the shotgun, setting it up so it looks like he’s been cleaning it for a few minutes at least.

             Sam tosses the masticated potato into his open clothes duffel and jerks out a book, settling into his chair like he’s been there for hours, no sign of anything other than mild interest on his face. The door opens on a high pitched squeal and heralds John’s arrival.

             “Anything happen while I was out?” He asks gruffly, closing the door not-so-quietly behind him and surveying the room. They’re both a little tense, like kids who’ve been caught doing something bad, but John’s too tired to notice. “Nope.” is Sam’s bored reply as he idly flips the page. Dean gives a “No, sir.” and nothings out of the ordinary and John relaxes as much as he ever does. When John heads into the bathroom to shower, Sam tosses a smirk at Dean and chokes out a few more silent laughs as Dean heads to the sink to spit the taste of potato out of his mouth.  

            Sam covers his face with his book before getting up to smugly throw the rest of the potato in the trash as the shower starts up. Dean spitefully throws a handful of water on him when he passes. “Aww dude, frickin’ come on.” Sam complains halfheartedly and quietly, pulling the wet cloth of his t-shirt away from his skin and giving Dean a dirty look.

            “I plan on it.” Dean replies as skeevily as he possible can, tossing in a comical leer for effect. Sam nipples perk up, shirt clinging all down his front, and when Dean passes Sam on his way back to the living room he slaps him on the nipple. “Ow, you  _ass.”_ Sam laughs out, rubbing his stinging pectoral before following Dean. His swearing gets his other nipple smacked and he punches Dean in the shoulder blade.

            “Butt-hole.” Sam says in all seriousness, grumpy about his shirt  _and_  his nips. Dean’s laugh is warm and husky.

It’s later, when night has set in and the heat isn’t as overbearing, that John leaves again, this time his intentions far less noble. Dean knows they’ve got at least a couple of hours before he’ll be back, no doubt completely shitfaced, and decides to use the time they have alone for something purposeful, something worth doing.

            Revenge.

            “Gettin’ a shower, gotta tinkle, princess?” Dean asks, back to Sam while he fishes clean clothes out of his duffle. “M’fine.” Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop. Grinning wickedly to himself, Dean turns the shower on, sets the water to cool and strips out of his faded Def Leppard shirt.

           Wearing only his jeans, Dean pads out of the bathroom silently, movements stealthy, and sneaks up on the unsuspecting Sam. Quick, so he doesn’t have time to react, Dean darts around to Sam’s front and grabs him around the waist. With a grunt, he lifts Sam out of the lawn chair and tosses him over his shoulder, his gangly limbs bouncing against Dean’s bare back.

              Sam yelps, hands scrabbling against the sweat slick skin of Dean’s back, and tries to flail his way out of Dean’s hold. “What the f-” Dean gives his shoulder a bounce and Sam’s “what the fuck” becomes a vehement “what the frick?!” Dean radiates smugness while he hauls Sam into the tiny bathroom.

               Dean’s sweat against his skin shouldn’t be as insanely hot as it is, but that doesn’t stop his dick from hardening against Dean’s shoulder or the way something low and hot throbs in his belly. Dean’s shoulder digs into his ribcage and Sam digs his foot into Dean’s thigh, trying to gain leverage. Sam’s cheeks flush and he wriggles uncomfortably, Dean’s hand coming up to grip his ass tight, heightening the hard punch of want.

           With no ceremony, Dean plops him in the shower, fully dressed and watches on hungrily as water covers every inch of Sam, making the denim of his jeans cling to lean thighs. Sam has to push his wet hair out of his face to level Dean with a mildly peeved look. “What. The. Frick.”

            “Come on Sammy, drippin’ wet and pissed is a  _really_  good look for you.” Dean chuckles, smile filthy and eyes gone liquid. Dean steps in after him, still wearing his jeans, and crushes Sam’s water dotted lips to his own. Sam gives as good as he gets, kissing Dean back fiercely in between hard nips to full, ridiculously fucking sensual lips and long strokes of his tongue against Dean’s.  

           Gripping the already defined juts of Sam’s hips, Dean hauls Sammy against him and presses their hips together roughly, the jut of Sam’s cock pressed tight against his thigh. Sam groans, eyes widening in surprise when Dean jams a knee between his own and then hauls him up higher on his thigh. The friction is mind blowing and one of Sam’s hands grips the curve of Dean’s shoulder blade while the other moves down to trace the outline of Dean’s dick.

            Dean’s hips jerk and with a wicked grin he releases one of Sam’s hips to undo the button on his pants, undoing the zip hastily and exposing the tented dark red of Sam’s boxer briefs. Completely ignoring Sam’s aching cock, he shoves his hand down the back of Sammy’s pants and slides his hand between his ass-cheeks. He doesn’t do anything but that, just lets Sammy feel him where he needs him most, but doesn’t give him a damn thing.

           Sam arches and Dean grins against his swollen mouth, pinning him against the decrepit shower wall and grinding against him dirty and quick. “Now who’s the cock-tease?” Sam chokes out, the pre-come that beads the tip of his cock smearing against his soaked underwear.

           “That’d be me, baby boy.” Dean purrs back lowly, rubbing his fingers over the stretch of skin at the top of Sam’s ass. Now that he’s got him immobile, Dean grips Sam through his underwear and jacks him at a slow pace, the ragged groan of Sam’s breath and the way his hands grip desperately at Dean’s skin are enough to have lazy heat building in his lower belly.

           His dick gives a throb and he groans into Sam’s mouth, hand faltering for just a second before he slips his hand under the band of Sam’s boxers and grips his wet, heated skin. Sam’s lips break from Dean’s and he sucks in a few desperate breaths, head lolling against the shower wall. His thighs muscles twitch and if Dean wasn’t holding him up he would have sunk to his knees.

           Casually, so fucking casually that it hurts, Dean rubs his fingertips slowly over Sam’s entrance, not breaching, just rubbing teasingly over the tight muscle. It’s when Dean slips just the tip of one finger inside, easy as you like, and gives Sam a rough jerk, that Sam cums so hard his eyes slam shut and he sags against Dean’s thigh. If Dean hadn’t pulled his hand away from Sam’s dick to steady him, he would have tipped off. Sam bucks down, burying the finger up to the last knuckle inside of him, and shudders through the burning stretch while rocking back, trying to take the digit deeper  

            The loss of touch makes Sam whine, but he’s shuddering apart and gripping Dean to him fiercely enough that he feels a rush of excitement at the thought of the bruises Sam’s hands are going to leave. Burning, fluttery heat shudders over his skin and Sam’s gasps grow more and more frantic as his orgasm rushes over him. Dean’s mouthing at his neck, slow and gentle, Sam’s muscles clenching around his finger while Sam coats the inside of his boxers with cum.

            “Jesus, Sam.” Dean says with feeling, balls drawn up tight while his own release lingers just out of reach. It’s when Sam presses his panting mouth to Dean’s and bites down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood while gripping his cock that Dean cums with a hoarse shout. The muscles of Dean’s shoulder go tense beneath Sam’s hands and Sam presses his hips down into Dean’s, coaxing the last few drops of cum out of him.  
            Dean’s finger is still buried in his ass and he clenches down on it pointedly while Dean’s shuddering through the last few spasms of his orgasm. Grinning cheekily, sated and loose-limbed, he presses it as deep into Sam as he can get before withdrawing it carefully. In a tangled heap, they sink to the bottom of the tub, Sam in Dean’s lap, and let the water wash over them while they regain their strength.   
            “Ass-hat.” Sam mutters fondly into the crook of Dean’s neck, face smushed against the scarred bit of skin. “Cock-tease.” Dean grins back, nose pressing into Sam’s wet hair while he strokes his hands down Sammy’s back.


End file.
